Virtue to vice
by AdemaTrivium
Summary: Words were not used, for they would only nourish a relationship that outside those four walls could not exist.


Hi there everyone!

So this is a short oneshot fic that suddenly occurred me and I had to write it.

The title refers to a song (by deathstars, if you want to check it out) that vaguely talks about an affair full of secrecy, so i thought it fit quite well in the story.

Enjoy!

* * *

He wonders if this is her twisted way of punishing herself or of pleasing him. And that thought almost stops him. Yet, the way she arches up to him combined with her urgent moans and fuelled kisses throws his doubts out of the window.

He tries to think back at how they ended like that but her body surrounds him, turning his blood in liquid fire and the dizziness overtakes him. He will not think, not right now. He will leave that particular activity when that lithe and pale body is no longer sweaty and writhing underneath him. Her head is thrown back in pleasure, her mouth open in a silent scream, strands of blond hair pasted to her flushed face and darkened blue eyes with desire, make her the impersonation of sensuality, a portrait that he burns on his eyelids in hope to never forget that moment.

It doesn't matter if it is wrong, if it the biggest mistake he has ever done, because inside those four walls Konoha doesn't exists, inside those four walls she's not the best friend of his former student and he's not the best friend of her former teacher.

* * *

It started with Asuma's death.

The first time they crossed paths after the incident was in the grounds were the Memorial Stone was located. When his eye fell upon her petite form kneeled on the floor, he pondered coming back later, but since the blonde looked like she had no idea of getting up and leave, he approached her. Her stoic face quickly changed from one of disgust and anger – at herself – as she became aware of his presence. Azure eyes that reminded him of the sky filled with tears and she bowed down her head in shame, her long ponytail resting lifeless on the dirt.

Although he understood her actions, he did not understand her self-inflicted guilt, so he crouched in front of her, and laid a hand on top of her head. He was going to tell her that it was the natural course of things, they were ninjas, they had to be prepared to face death at any moment, because it was for something bigger than them, for Konoha, but once she seems like she would only cry harder if he says that, he opted for something different.

_I'll help you with your revenge._

When the fight with Kakuzu and Hidan finally ends, he feels her shaking hands and warm chakra sweeping his strained body. Her face is lit up with something he can't exactly point but her eyes, like always, filled with emotion, speak loudly to him - _thank you_ – and he understands. He softly smiles at her, a gesture almost imperceptible under his mask but he knows is not lost in her, she understands too.

The next time he sees her is after Pein's invasion.

He is confused, he is supposed to be dead, yet he awakes to find Konoha's blue sky and equally blue eyes looking at him. His body, unlike the rest of the village, is no longer buried in debris, allowing him to regain feeling in his limbs. He feels her hands grasping tightly his right sleeve and looks up to her questioningly, but the only answer she has to give is an expression of pained relief and tear marks along soiled cheekbones. He almost tells her that it's okay to hold on to _him_, but catches himself in time, _it would be wrong_.

Although he understands her feelings, of gratitude and sympathy towards him, because he is a fellow ninja, he does not understand her actions.

In the war he only catches glimpses of blond hair, but he never looks twice to make sure is her or another Yamanaka. He has to wait for the end of it to be in her presence again.

The devastating war ends, and with it Konoha tries to rise from the destruction and helplessness it left behind. New days come and new lives are presented to the world. It seems that both of them have the idea of visiting Kurenai at the same hours of the warm afternoon. When the older kunoichi leaves the living room to change a diaper or to prepare some tea, they are left alone, with short conversations and long silences. He doesn't mind and she doesn't seem to, either. They make a habit out of it.

So it doesn't surprise any of the two when someday he is waiting outside her flower shop.

* * *

Two days have passed since his death and she finds herself once again in front of the Memorial Stone, eyes glued to one name only.

_Sarutobi Asuma_

She reads it one more time to make sure it's not her mind playing tricks on her, but, the more often she reads it, the less she believes it's true. When she becomes aware of his presence, he's already by her side, his tall frame casting shadows over her. She doesn't know what to say, how to apologise for her actions, so she bows down her head, telling him in a silence exchange, that it is okay for him to rid the world of her useless presence, for if Chouji or Shikamaru died due to someone failure, she would not be so forgiving.

But he didn't say the words that she was bracing herself to hear, nor was his touch like what she expected when she saw his shadow move. Instead of the ruthless contact, there was only kindness in his action, and it hurt far more like this.

_I'll help you with your revenge._

His words only make her tears to fall more heavily, because being treated like a person - like she was worthy of consolation – was something that she didn't deserved. But she would take upon his offer. Not for her, not to ease her guilty conscience, for Team 10, for Kurenai, _for Asuma_.

Her legs shake and her heart beats erratically since leaving Konoha's gates until it is finally over, because it would be too much if any of them were to die. _Them_, both boys that were everything for her, the family that she never had, her team-mates and best friends, and _him_, the man who she'll try to compensate for the rest of her life or until is through with her.

And once again she is useless. So she does the only thing she's capable of, she heals them, even if it's done with trembling hands. She would never say the words to him, how grateful she is and how much she admires him. Instead she hopes that her eyes would speak louder than her voice could.

She chokes back a cry of relieve when she sees him leisurely opening his mismatching eyes. He had been dead seconds ago. She had _felt it_, his cold and rigid body below her small hand, and she cries; not only for him, but for all that's happening around her, too fast, too surrealistic, _too painful_.

She tries not to cry again - she scolds herself for being weak - because things are going to be alright now, it is over and the relief is so much that is almost overbearing.

She holds on tightly to his sleeve to make sure he is there, to make sure he is okay. She almost reached for his hand, but catches herself in time, _it would be wrong_.

One night he enters the bar in which she's slamming down shots of sake, a nasty habit she acquired after the war, and although he is surprised he sits in the stole besides her. They almost never speak, but words were never of great importance in their relationship. She doesn't mind the long silences – between them- and he doesn't seem to, either. At the end of the night he walks her home, making her wonder if he does that out of courtesy or sympathy, but she won't question him. She likes his company anyway. When arriving at her doorstep she asks if he wants to come in as he politely refuses.

This also becomes a routine for them.

So it doesn't surprise any of the two when someday he accepts her invitation.

* * *

Hope you liked it.

Thanks for reading :)


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